


Riley Doesn't...

by Morgana



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Blow Jobs, Coming In Pants, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Infidelity, M/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-07
Updated: 2014-12-07
Packaged: 2018-02-28 11:28:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2730773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morgana/pseuds/Morgana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are all sorts of things Riley never thought he'd do</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Riley Doesn't Kiss Men

Riley's not attracted to men. He's never thought about them as potential sex partners, never had a crush on any of his platoon mates, and certainly never wanted to do any experimenting with one. So when he finds himself kissing Spike after one of their countless showdowns, it's a sizable shock to his nervous system. Although he can't say for certain whether it's because he's actually kissing a man, or because it's hot enough to melt any thought besides 'more'. 

He doesn't know who started it, if Spike pulled his head down or if he bent towards him, but he knows that he'll remember the first brush of cool, dry lips against his for the rest of his life. They were slightly chapped, but softer than he might have expected, and after the first chaste kiss, Spike's tongue darts out to wet them, and there's just the sleek press of first lips and then tongue, slipping into his mouth before he really knows what's going on. He tastes like cigarettes and beer, which Riley might have expected, but also like peppermint, and that's strange. Do vampires secretly try to keep from getting blood breath, or was it a smoker's habit that he's somehow held on to?

It isn't really important, though, not when Spike shifts and Riley feels the unmistakable brush of an erection against his thigh. Somehow, the hands that started out fisted in Spike's shirt smooth out, moving from his chest to his shoulders, where they curved around the joints to keep him steady. Spike's own hands are a bit busier, first sliding up into the short hair at the back of his neck, then wandering down between them to cup his ass and squeeze. Riley briefly thinks about saying something when he feels them curl around his butt like that, but Spike pulls him even closer, so they're fully body to body, and the pressure against his aching dick makes him forget everything else. Before he really knows it, he's rocking against Spike, groaning into his mouth as heat builds between them, slow and steady and undeniable.

He has the dim thought that he really shouldn't be doing this, but then Spike closes his lips around his tongue and suck, and the only thing that matters is getting him to do it again. Just a little longer, and then he'll make him stop. But Spike's kisses are turning out to be surprisingly addictive, and Riley can't stop, can't keep from going back for just one more, until his climax catches him by surprise, and he groans into Spike's mouth as he jerks and comes in his pants, grinding frantically against Spike's equally hard dick like he was fifteen again and back behind the Grange hall with Jennifer Gordon. And just like Jennifer, Spike moans in reply, fingers digging into his ass as he humps him back, following him right over the edge into bliss.

When he gets his strength back, Riley's going to shove Spike away and threaten him, make sure the vampire understands he'll stake him if he ever does this again, or says anything about it. But right now, his legs are all wobbly, so he just leans his forehead against Spike's and pants weakly, waiting for the world to stop spinning and put itself back in order.


	2. Riley Doesn't Like Guys (or Spike

Riley doesn't like men. Not that way, anyways. He's told himself that a thousand times over the past two weeks, reminded himself over and over again that he has a beautiful girlfriend who loves him, and that if he wants to be in anyone's bed, it's hers. He wants soft curves and warm skin, not hard planes and cool fingers. But while his conscious brain agrees with him, his subconscious seems to have another agenda entirely.

He wakes up from yet another dream of blond hair, hard hands, and harder cocks, aching and aroused, and so hungry for it that he thinks he might scream. It isn't the first time this has happened, but it is the first time that Buffy isn't beside him, so he can't turn to her and try to lose himself in her wet, willing body the way he has before. A cold shower might be a good idea, but that means leaving the warm comfort of his bed, and besides, he's hard enough that he's not sure even that would work. Riley tells himself that it doesn't mean anything when one hand slides down over his stomach, moving inexorably towards his straining dick - after all, masturbation's perfectly normal.

As though conjured by the very thought of normal, an image from his dream surfaces, of chiseled features drawn tight with desire, and a mouth that's really too pretty for a man's open in a moan. Riley shoves it aside and tries to think about Buffy, about how warm her hands are, how soft and wet she is, but it doesn't work. The second he starts to drift into the fantasy, his girlfriend's blonde waves are replaced by short, crisp bleached strands, her well-kept, manicured hands shoved aside for the thought of long fingers with bitten nails painted black. And every time, his traitorous dick jumps at the prospect of those hands around it.

Maybe it's not Spike, though. Maybe it's just the thought of a man, period. After all, a little experimentation at his age is normal too, right? Riley closes his eyes and tries to picture someone else, a bigger, stronger hand- Graham's, maybe. He thinks about his ex-teammate stretched out next to him in bed, cock hard against his thigh, hand moving quickly over his dick, and that's good. But all too soon, he realizes that Graham's eyes aren't blue enough, and his hair's too dark, his hand and body too big and bulky against his own. He wants something leaner, slender and whip-strong and - oh, God.

Images from his dream surge up as he works himself harder, his hand moving faster on his dick, and then there's no fighting it. He thinks about the crisp white sheets that he was spread out on, the blond head that had moved slowly down his chest until there was a cool mouth around his dick, a tongue licking over him until he'd cried out for more. Precome slicks his shaft until the room begins to fill with the musky scent of desire, accompanied by the rhythmic, wet sound of flesh on flesh. "Oh, God," he moans, thrusting up into his hand as the dream plays out once more behind his eyelids. Smooth skin, cool and dry, a hard cock rubbing against his hip while hands roved over his body, a mouth that tasted of cigarettes and beer and mint, a low voice that said all sorts of filthy things... only the memory of the kiss was real, but the rest seems so vivid that he almost wonders if it somehow happened, after all. 

The thought of Spike creeping into his bed to seduce him should make his skin crawl. Instead, it just makes his dick jerk against his palm, and he barely has time to remind himself that he really doesn't like men, and he certainly doesn't like Spike, before he's coming harder than he has since he was a teenager, hot spurts of liquid need jetting out against his stomach, splashing over his skin in random patterns that he thinks Spike might like to lick off and - "Ohhhh, God!" It feels like it goes on forever, a sizzling circuit of desire and pleasure that just doesn't want to close until at last it does, and he slumps bonelessly back against the mattress, thoroughly and hopelessly spent.

Tomorrow he'll freak out about jerking off to thoughts of Spike, and the incredible erotic dream that pushed him to it. Tomorrow he'll remind himself that he has a girlfriend most men would kill for, and he'll read Spike's history again in Giles' books to prove to himself that he's a monster. He'll remember that he doesn't want men, doesn't think about them like that, and he definitely doesn't want Spike. Maybe he'll even sharpen a new stake, just in case temptation tries to stray too close again. Yes, he'll do all that and more - tomorrow. Right now he's too busy basking in the aftermath of the best orgasm he's had in weeks to bother.


	3. Riley Doesn't Cheat

By now, Riley's sure the universe hates him. It's not bad enough that he's been dreaming about Spike, dreams that are getting increasingly vivid and heated, or that he's jerked off to thoughts of a body very different from Buffy's, but now he has to patrol, of all things, with the vampire. He's sure Buffy meant well when she asked Spike to go with him and watch his back, since he was picking up the slack while she went to LA to visit her dad, but she has no idea what she's done to him. 

Bad enough that he has to wonder now if she really believes he needs help, that he can't protect himself, but to send Spike with him... it's almost unbearable. He's doing his best not to think about dreams of pale skin and firm hands, or images from the last time he spent any time alone with Spike, but his body isn't making it easy on him. His dick seems to have very different plans in mind for the night, because he's been hard ever since Spike met him at Peacemont's front gate. That was almost an hour ago, and he doesn't know how much longer he'll be able to stand it before he has to either find a bathroom somewhere or go insane.

Right now he's watching Spike finish off the last of the vampires they'd stumbled across, and how sick is it that watching Spike take on two fledglings at once makes him even harder? He's a blur of deadly grace, all sleek lines and lethal intent, and Riley can't help it - when the last one crumbles to dust, he moans. 

It's a soft sound, but it echoes like a scream in the quiet night, and when Spike's head whips around, he finds himself taking an automatic step back. His eyes look dark and hungry like this, and he's reminded in one insane instant of the pond behind his grandfather's barn, how it was always blue and welcoming by day, but dark and forbidding by night. Riley always did like sneaking out to go night swimming... 

Spike's suddenly right in front of him, just there, staring at him, and he can't move, can't speak, can't do anything but moan again when he's shoved up against a tree with Spike pressed up against him. "Better run if you don't want it," Spike mutters, right before he jerks Riley down into a hard kiss.

He doesn't cheat. It's one of his oldest rules, drummed into him by mother, father, church, and community, and he's never broken it before. That last time with Spike doesn't count, at least in his mind, because he was drunk. And dreams and fantasies definitely don't count, or he knows nobody would ever be considered faithful. But now, if he lets this go on, sober and awake and fully aware... now there'll be no turning back, no way he can ever say he wasn't a completely willing participant.

Riley opens his mouth and moans as Spike's tongue sweeps in, just as cool and heady as he remembers it. Hands close around his biceps, holding him in place until it becomes clear that he has no intention of moving, and then they slip down and start working on the button and zipper of his jeans. Spike doesn't give him any time to think before his hand delves inside both jeans and boxers to find his dick. His fingers wrap around him and squeeze, and God, it's good. Not too soft or hesitant, like a woman, but tight and hard, just the right side of pain. It makes sense, really - after all, he's got one, too, so he knows how to handle it.

He only has a few seconds to really savor it before the tight hold is gone and he's being loosely jacked, offering just enough friction to torture him. "God, please," he moans, then hisses when Spike suddenly tightens his grip and adds a twist with each stroke. This is what it's like to be a violin in the hands of a virtuoso, he thinks illogically, before all thought disappears and he's left panting and moaning as he comes, spilling over Spike's fingers into his jeans, riding his orgasm out in the middle of the graveyard, where anybody and everybody could see.

Somehow, his own hand finds it way down into illegally tight black jeans, where an equally hard cock brushes against his fingers without any sort of underwear to separate them. Wrapping his hand clumsily around it, Riley told himself that it really shouldn't be a surprise, not when he has a dick himself and knows what it feels like, but there's something different about it when it isn't his own. There's no instant shock of pleasure and anticipation that usually comes with jerking off, for one thing, and for another, there's the extra slide of foreskin and a different angle, one that leaves him feeling more than a little awkward. As though he can read his mind, Spike's hand closes over his, guiding him in a smooth motion, showing him the rhythm that he wants, hard and fast. He's always been a fast learner, and it's not long before Spike's hand falls away and he's thrusting up into his fist and groaning. 

Riley's never been this close to another guy when he comes before, and it's a revelation. He can feel Spike's dick jerk in his hand as he shoots, stripes of white that paint his chest before they slide over Riley's fingers, and it's smooth and sticky and silky, just like his own. He feels his dick twitch, even though it's too soon for him to get hard again, and already he's thinking about what it would be like to hump Spike like he did that first time, but without the jeans between them, to feel the come coat his dick instead of his fingers, and he's pretty sure he won't wait too long to find out.


	4. Riley Doesn't Slack Off

He's not supposed to be here. Buffy thinks he's at the library working on his thesis, getting back to being a college student like the guy she'd thought he was when they first met. And Riley meant to go there, he really did. It's the right thing, the good thing to do. And Riley always tries to do the right thing.

He's the good boy, always has been. It's one of the things his parents have always remarked on, how Josh might be a little wild and Chrissy more than a little, but Riley's dependable. Reliable. It's one of the reasons he was picked for Professor Walsh's special squad, one of the reasons he's here in Sunnydale trying to put his life back together like a good boy should.

None of that explains why he's not in the library, though. Or maybe it does. Maybe he was always just waiting for the chance to slip his leash and find out exactly what's so appealing about being bad. Either way, he's here now, stretched out in a dilapidated armchair while a vampire kneels at his feet and shows him exactly why they say guys are just plain better at giving head than girls are.

It was supposed to be a quick stop, a chance to threaten Spike and make sure he didn't tell anybody about what happened last week, but there had been something particularly appealing about the way Spike looked. He'd woken him up, that was obvious, and Riley didn't know if it was the tousled curls, the drowsy blue eyes, the chiseled abs, or just the overall package, but there was something... well, adorable about seeing Spike like this, disheveled and sleepy and anything but his usual badass self.

Thoughts of intimidation and blackmail turned into kisses and seeing how fast he could get his hands on all that pale skin just laid out for him. One thing led to another, and Riley surrendered his shirt easily enough, but it isn't until Spike slipped out of the chair and slid to his knees that he figured out what he wanted. He'd started to protest, to tell him it wasn't necessary, and then Spike had gotten his pants open and ducked down. WIth the first wet swipe of a tongue over the head of his leaking dick, Riley forgets all about what he was going to say and opts for moaning instead.

It's a good choice, especially since once Spike takes him inside, he doesn't stop until he's all. The. Way. Down, his nose buried in dark curls, throat closed tight around Riley's dick. Nobody's ever done that before, and Riley has to grab the arms of the chair and grit his teeth to keep from coming right then. He's heard about this, of course, seen it in pornos and dirty magazines, but none of those prepared him for this, for the phenomenal feeling of someone's throat working around him.

Spike moans and Riley can feel it, vibrating around sensitive skin, and if this is anything at all like what a vibrator feels like, then he doesn't see how women didn't swear off men in favor of sex toys years ago. He swears and shudders as he tries to control the urge to buck up for more, then loses as Spike starts to pull back. It's not a conscious decision, just a surge of his hips and a broken plea, but it earns him what feels like a chuckle, and he doesn't care if Spike's laughing at him, as long as he sucks him like that again.

Fingers move up his thighs and he shifts, unable to spread more than a little thanks to the fact that his pants are still on, but it's enough to let Spike's hand dip in to curve around his balls. And that's something extra he wasn't expecting, a squeeze that's just the right side of rough and so different from the careful way women tend to touch him. It's a reminder that it's a man sucking him off, a man who knows exactly what it feels like, and that should probably turn him off, but it just makes him even hotter.

Riley hasn't come from a blowjob since he was sixteen - it's usually part of foreplay, something the girls offer up to show that they're not prudes, and he's always more than glad to reciprocate and go down on them in exchange before they get down to things. But this is as far removed from the way most girls bob up and down a few times as you can get, and it doesn't take all that long (at least, he thinks it doesn't; he's lost all sense of time since Spike pulled him down for that first kiss) before his groans are getting louder as he gets closer to completely losing every last shred of control he has. He opens his mouth to warn Spike, but all that comes out is a series of grunts and "uh, uh, uh"s that the vampire seems to understand perfectly fine, because he sucks even harder and then Riley's coming in a white-hot explosion, shooting so hard he swears he can feel every pulse of his dick through his entire body.

Spike swallows it all and keeps sucking until Riley pushes him away, but he doesn't stay gone long. Before Riley can blink, he's in his lap, straddling his hips and popping his fly open until his cock's right there, flushed and hard, and Riley knows he should shove shove him away, get out of here and go to the library like he said he was. But he hadn't gotten to see this before, and Riley can't seem to tear his eyes away from the hard thrust of his dick. He distantly hears Spike groan when he licks his lips and reaches out for him, wrapping his fingers around another man's cock for the second time in his life.

Somehow, he doesn't think it's going to be the last time, and maybe it makes him less of a good boy, but he can't really be bothered to care. Not when Spike's already moaning and whispering filth about what he wants to do with him next time.


End file.
